Tuesday, December 17, 2013

It's a perpetual challenge for me to come up with a fresh and exciting Christmas gift idea for my husband. He's the type of guy who 1.) doesn't need a lot of things and 2.) if he does need something, just buys it for himself and tells me a month later. It's one of the reasons I love him so very much, and also one of the things that drives me crazy. So this year, Babe, I've written you a little poem set to the tune of my favorite Christmas song. It goes without saying, but I feel like I should address it in a public forum. And a 1...2...3...4...

About my appearance I used to be pridefulWhich makes me somewhat spitefulFor since now that I'm a Mom, you knowI've let it go let it go let it go.Oh it doesn't show signs of stopping,So out of photos I'll keep on cropping.Please keep that flash on low,Because I've let it go let it go let it go.When we finally kiss the kids goodnight And they're tucked in bed so warm,Instead of hugging you tightI should go jogging in that storm .Oh I really wish that I were lying, But my looks have done some good bye-ing.I'm thankful you still love me soDespite that I've let it go let it go let it go.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

I remember explicitly, my thought
process. It was nine months ago - that day in March - when my extremely-large-almost-ten-pound-man-infant
latched perfectly at ten minutes of age…”How am I going to ever wean this one?”
It’s an interesting phenomenon. At first the mother thinks, “I can’t possibly
nurse this baby all day! I need to be doing other things! I can’t hold you all
day! All I want is my body back!”

THEN…in a few short months, when
that same baby can’t be cajoled onto the breast despite her best efforts, the
same mother thinks, “I’m not ready to be finished with this. You still need me.
You’re still a baby. I still NEED you to need ME.” (Abject despair. Muffled
cries).) What a juxtaposition, right? Forgive me. I just weaned my last baby.

CORRECTION: I just weaned my last baby, except it was entirely his own idea.
CORRECTION: My last baby just weaned himself.
CORRECTION: My last baby just weaned himself without my consent.
CLARFICATION: I am rendered useless. Inert. Done.

I was warned, you see. I was
warned that the second child may not nurse to the magic twelve month mark – AKA
the age that laughs in the face of all
potential ear infections. I was warned that the second child has so many
more distractions than the first. Namely due to the fact that the mother no
longer has the luxury of sitting on the couch while watching BRAVO and nursing
for countless, consecutive, uninterrupted hours because the mother now has a
toddler to keep from their untimely, yet ever imminent death.

Essentially, this milestone
is just the first of many whereupon my child separates himself from me. Do I
want him to rely upon me forever? No, of course not. Was I prepared for my baby
(because that’s what he’ll always be) to start the severing process so soon?
No, of course not. Is this the face of a child ready to be a big boy? Oh my,
yes it is.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Once upon a time in Napland there
was a lovely little girl who took naps regularly in the afternoon. Sometimes
the naps lasted two hours and sometimes they lasted 45 minutes, but still
she took them. And they were glorious. And the people in the household rejoiced.
This same little girl who napped was a pleasure to be around in the evening,
and her parents did not count down the hours until it was bedtime. Evenings
were filled with leisurely dinners, stories, and bath time. The naps were held
in high regard by the household and the parents hoped they would never leave.

Now we find ourselves brutally
ejected from Napland – never to return. It was a gradual departure,
nonetheless, we are gone, baby, gone. Honestly, I’m really surprised that my
lovely little girl doesn’t nap anymore. She was always good about going down
for them consistently and got quality rest. However, as I write this, I am
literally listening to her bang around in her room like Casper the Friendly Ghost.
I fully expect to go in there in thirty minutes and find she has nailed every
toy she owns to the ceiling.

It is what it is. Our afternoons
are lessons in Managing Meltdowns 101, and I am the beleaguered instructor. At
first I was wildly irritated at the discharge from Napland, now I just adjust
bedtime up an hour or two…or three. A phase, a phase - one that I hope to say “farewell”
to promptly.

(This is just a small example of her goings on while she is supposed to be "napping".)

Monday, October 14, 2013

I’m not going to flatter myself and
assume that anyone in the blog-o-sphere has noticed that I haven’t posted in seven
months. The funny thing is, I can’t really tell you what I’ve been doing
instead of blogging. Our beautiful son, Ford Marshall, was born on March 13. We
brought him home 20 hours later. Since then…umm...so…I feel like we’ve been busy,
but…it’s all basically a blur.

I can tell you in relative terms
what we have been doing a lot of in the past seven months. Since I think mostly
in fragments lately, I give you a poorly punctuated list.

·Eating

oAdults – primarily
frozen meals - prepared by Dad while Mom nurses a fussy baby- accompanied with a lot of wine if it’s past
5:00 (4:30 some days if I’m being honest)

oToddler – primarily
macaroni & cheese with some type of frozen vegetable coupled with the
occasional PB&J, and a lot of popsicles

Monday, February 25, 2013

During the summer, we were actively
trying to conceive. I found out I was pregnant at all of three days in.
Thankfully, unlike my first pregnancy, this time we’ve reached “full term” or
37 weeks. Bookended by those two facts, it feels like I’ve been pregnant my
entire life.

People I haven’t seen in awhile
are like, “You’re still pregnant?” Sometimes it’s fun to mess with those people
and tell them I delivered two months ago and watch the horror crawl across
their faces. But mostly I just smile, say that I have three weeks until my due
date, and waddle away muttering obscenities.

Did I willingly sign up to be
pregnant again? Yes. Was I aware of the gestational period length of our
species? Yes. Was I prepared for the discomfort and inelegance of the last
month? Most definitely no.

All manner of surprises have
been waiting for me this time around. Weekly pelvic exams! More blood tests!
More time for weight gain! Swelling! Yahoo! I’m beginning to think that delivering my first child at
35 weeks was a present, not the worst thing to ever happen to me. We’ve agreed
that this will be our last child, so assuming that everything goes smoothly, this
is the last time I’ll be pregnant. I try to remember this as I struggle for
breath after walking across the room.

Kudos to all women who have gone
the distance of a 40 week pregnancy. I never knew what an effort this last leg
was. Hopefully my next post will be about how I went into labor at 37.5 weeks.

Thank you to my sister in law
for taking the only belly picture of this entire pregnancy. I know I’ll enjoy
looking at this at some point.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Throughout Marryn’s short
lifetime, people have continually told me that she will “do ______ in her own
time”.

First was in the NICU when
she wouldn’t eat. The neonatologists, nurses, speech therapists, pastors, parents,
strangers, janitors, etc. all told me that she would start eating in her own
time. The doctors described a “light bulb” that would eventually turn on. Sure
enough, at about a week old, the light bulb turned on, and she ate continuously
for a year. Come to think of it, she really hasn’t stopped yet.

Next came “sleep training”. Despite
the advice of the 200+ books I read on the subject, I nursed Marryn to sleep
for the first several months of her life. When I came to my senses, I remember worrying
about how I would transition to laying her down for the night while she was
still awake. I shouldn’t have bothered because somewhere in between the 8th
and 9th month, she would quit nursing, sit up and gesture (for lack
of a better term) towards her bed. She’s been going to sleep on her own ever
since.

Fast forward a few months. As we
approached Marryn’s first birthday, I worried about how I’d wean her. Was she
ready? Was I? Should I do parent led weaning or child led? Every time I thought
about it, I’d end up in tears. Frankly, I was about to let the dogs decide when
to close the Mommy kitchen, and then she just quit being interested in nursing
- all on her own.

I could give several more
examples of coming to a milestone on her own terms…when she began smiling,
saying Mama & Dada, crawling, walking/running/careening, and the list goes
on. We’ll be going along with the same behavior for months on end, and I begin
to wonder when something new will finally happen, and then it does - like
overnight. Dad calls it the “stair step”, and it’s a fitting description.

Why was I surprised then, when
two weeks ago (after trying for SIX
months) Marryn independently decided she would like to use the potty and put on
big girl panties? I was so happy I almost cried. I tried to not get too excited
about it. Maybe it was just a fluke. However, here we are, still going strong. She’s even successfully worn big girl panties
outside the house and used public restrooms – much to my delight and
simultaneous horror. Thank God for Lysol wipes.

I’m not saying parenting is
easy, but sometimes you do luck out and things fall into place when they
should. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that while I can’t force my
child into the next developmental step, I am becoming more comfortable with
waiting for her to reach it - all in her own time.

We've been doing a fair amount of car-pottying around here. When you gotta go, you gotta go.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Many have asked whether Marryn
“gets it”. Does she understand that a baby is coming? The short answer is yes –
she does. She knows her baby brother will be on the outside of Mommy’s tummy
soon. She’s begun to ask when. “When will baby brother be here? When can I play
with him?” And more specific questions too; “What will baby brother eat? Where
will he sleep?” She’s very curious about him. We pray for him every night and
she pats my stomach. She’s even squeezed me around the middle a few times to
give him a hug. As it stands now, Marryn likes her hypothetical baby brother.

What my sweet girl doesn’t know is
how much her life is about to change because of him. We are going to try our
best to keep her world and routine as constant as possible. She loves her
routine, as do we, because it keeps us all happy and feeling secure. However,
we also realize that adding another human being into our family is bound to
cause a ripple or two…hundred.

My first memory is of the night
my brother was born, when I was two and a half years old. I remember it being
really dark in the house when my parents left for the hospital, and my
grandmother came to stay with me. I remember going to the hospital the next day
to meet him, and looking into the nursery. What’s funny is that I don’t
remember how I felt at the time. However, when my parents reminisce about the
same events, they recall the process being emotionally difficult for me. There
was a lot of crying, whining, and one well placed spanking. I’m not sure if
they worried about my mental well being in light of my new sibling, but they shouldn’t
have. For my part, all I recollect is the basic information – a new baby
brother came into my life, and I have no memories without him.

Marryn may like her baby brother alright now, but he also may be the cause of the biggest disturbance in her life to date. Try as we might, Ben and I can’t fully prepare Marryn (or ourselves, really) for his arrival. All we know for sure is that we will love him, as we love one another, and that’s the best we can do…in theory.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Lauren and her husband have
taught their daughter how to wash her hands, brush her teeth, and feed herself.
They have taught her how to run, jump, and play hide and seek. Lauren and her
husband have also taught their daughter how to say her name, which she does
repeat, continually. Only, mostly their daughter refers to herself in third
person.

Marryn doesn’t want to.

Where’s Marryn’s drink?

Marryn is being silly.

I think I’m partly to blame. I
regularly say things like, “Mommy needs to rest.” “That is Mommy’s dinner.” “Mommy
will be right back.” Lord, Mommy is annoying herself with this manner of
speaking! Why did I start doing this? I think it began as an effort to simplify
my language in order to teach my baby who was who.

Now, surely Marryn is a more
sophisticated linguist, but because I’m the person she hears the most often,
and I have adopted this inane speech pattern, she has copied me. Bless Lauren’s
daughter’s heart. She didn’t have a chance.

I said I was partly to blame.
The other part I blame on him.

Bastard.

What I have to remind myself is
that even though Marryn speaks in third person, it’s most likely a phase. Like
most idiosyncrasies from childhood - it’s cute as hell, and Lauren will be sad
when her daughter stops.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

We’re expecting a baby boy in
about ten weeks. We are all really excited about him, and now that we are moved
into the new house, we have finally gotten busy with preparing for his arrival.
Since he is the second child, we already have the vast majority of baby gear –
strollers, car seats, play pen, burp cloths, sheets, etc. Luckily, we
registered for gender neutral colored gear the first time around.

However, one thing we are
missing this time around is baby boy clothes. I was under the impression that
Marryn wore way more yellow and green clothes than she actually did. When I
physically went through her old clothes, 98% of them screamed I’m a lovely,
dainty female in pink and purple polka dots. I think she had maybe one shirt
with a duck on it, and a couple of green sleepers.

I hate waste, and I love to
recycle, so I have to ask myself…how much pink is too much pink…for a boy…that
lives in Texas…in a rural area…who has a very masculine father…and
grandfathers…before it makes an impact?

I don’t intend to dress him in
his sister’s old skirts in public, but if he runs around the house in some
pastel numbers that’s not going to affect his psyche, right? Will he really
know if his pajamas say Night Night Princess? Will he care if he hangs out in
a Jenny Jump Up versus a Johnny Jump Up? Won’t his pink pacifier do the same
job as a blue one? Truly, I think this all matters not. Want to know why?

This is my brother during the
2,765th time I dressed him up. We are 2.5 years apart, the same
distance my children will be. There was a period in his life when his favorite
color was pink and he wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer when he grew up, all
because those were my preferences at the time. He was subjected to countless
dress up sessions (see above), make up applications, pretend mommy/baby play
times, and sometimes called his underwear “panties”.

Today he is one of the most
well-adjusted and compassionate men I’ve ever met. He once told Mom and I that
he would make a good husband because “knew about periods and stuff”. I’m not
sure if his wife would agree, but from the outside looking in, this has proven
to be true. I think that he benefitted from being raised with a big sister, and
maybe, just maybe, from literally walking in her shoes a time or two.

As a side note, a few friends
with older boys have been amazing about lending us their son’s hand-me-downs.
Between those and his sister’s leftovers, our son will be well outfitted in
many shades of style.

About Me

We met in 2002 in college (Specifically in a Dallas bar at OU/TX, but that’s a story for another time.), and married in April of 2006. Ben is a medical sales rep and I work in the oil & gas industry. We live in Fort Worth where we enjoy spending time with friends and our knucklehead Ridgebacks, Boz and AD.